If there's anything I've learned about myself and the creative process it's to have patience. I've learned to accept that once in awhile life demands that you just live it and save the documenting of it for later. No doubt there's something going on that requires some sitting with before there's any interpretation to be got out of it. Still, each day I look at my blog space and each day I think of the people who stop by to read what I have to say and there is some inner chastising happening. When I don't write I miss it – and I miss you.
This week, my job continues to hammer at my consciousness like a spoiled, loud child. "In-between moments" have been spent with a notebook, mulling around some ideas, some new directions, creative and otherwise. And I'm reading stories and preparing lessons – this semester's Creative Non-Fiction class full on and once again I'm discovering new writers and new people and the joy of fostering creativity.
And I've visited and shared meals with both of my daughters who have ended the "sister roommates" era and are establishing homes of their own. Several years ago, becoming an empty-nester whacked me over the head with an impact I hadn't anticipated. Who'd have thought that suddenly ending the responsibility and the nurturing and the sharing and developing and encouraging would leave you standing there dazed and wondering where you'll ever find that kind of purpose again?
Oh, but I love my grown up daughters. The purpose and intent behind the raising of them has produced gifts far beyond that which I ever imagined. And to be in their homes, feeling the love and the values I based my own home on as central to theirs – I feel nothing but gratitude. And anticipation for all those experiences that will come next.
Sometimes the best thing you can do is to simply hold back and let the well be filled, even if that source remains a mystery.
Thanks for having patience with me my loyal friends.
Have patience with all things, but chiefly have patience with yourself. Do not lose courage in considering you own imperfections but instantly set about remedying them – every day begin the task anew.
~Saint Francis de Sales
I had a hell of a week last week. It's one of those periods that just comes with my job – it's nothing new but it's starting to get old. As I consider how much longer I want to have weeks like last week, I'm gearing up for another one.
If I'm questioning how much longer I want to entertain stress and long days in those five middle days in a week, I'm not questioning my ability to counter those kinds of days with what I need. I told a friend this morning: "that drizzly day is calling me." I went out there and walked. I smelled the layers of leaves fallen in a park. I admired the mist hanging about the lake and the city. I bought food, and I cooked meals for the looming week. I listened to CBC radio. My home smells of roasted squash and cinnamon and tomatoes and sage. I did laundry and cleaned my kitchen.
Mostly I breathed today. I thought my neighbourhood, which is burgeoning with busyness all summer long, seemed a little lonely in late October. In a good way. Maybe a place is like a person – and a break from everyone and everything does it good once in awhile.
I squeezed a few more days of vacation to come up to Manitoulin Island with my family. Rest, food, games, walks and wine. Mostly rest. The island is a gentle and beautiful place. For some reason, this year, I'm wanting more of the gentle and beautiful than I'm going to get. But I sure am appreciating the moment.
The shed and clothesline.
The turtle family working on their tans in the middle of the pond.
Sunlight on new apples.
Daisies and Black Eyed Susans in Dad's garden.
The entrance to one of the local trails in South Baymouth.